Ridley Pearson - Middle Of Nowhere

Boldt and Wong had run the rules of engagement for the better part of the last half hour, Wong careful not to get a foot snagged in an unseen trap. For his part, Boldt had not mentioned the kid interviewed behind Snookers by name.

"German scope," Wong said. "Scope very important. Maybe he had used such scope before. Maybe he only read about it. Maybe just trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. Get better price."

"The range of the weapon and accuracy?" Boldt asked.

"With that scope… sighted correct… if weapon handled by expert? Three, four hundred yards. Amateur, if he rests on a mount, two hundred yards, no problem. On shoulder, a hundred, a hundred and fifty yards he can still hit target."

"Semi-automatic," Boldt stated.

"Magazine holds thirty-two. One in the chamber, thirty-three." A child could empty the magazine in a few seconds, Boldt realized. Wong never lifted his head, his eyes floating in magnification and the rosy fatigue of red webbing. Meeting eyes with Boldt, he mumbled, "Cops and guns! I never understand police."

"You're sure it's him," Boldt said, indicating the photo. Boldt felt those thirty-two shots in the back of his head.

"Fifteen hundred dollar sure."

"You see what he was driving?" Gaynes asked.

"No."

"His clothes?" Boldt questioned.

"Jeans. Leather jacket, I think."

"Boots?" Boldt asked. "Sneakers?"

"Not remember. Not see man's feet."

"Ever sold to him before?"

"No."

"How about this man?" Boldt asked, producing a photo of David Ansel Flek, the younger brother.

"Never seen him."

"He's in possession of the weapon, then?" Gaynes asked.

"He owns weapon, yes."

"She asked about possession," Boldt reminded him.

The man fixed his attention on Boldt, but said nothing.

"The scope?" Boldt inquired.

Those eyes roamed around behind the smudged glass again.

"I'll take that as a negative," Boldt said.

"That's correct."

"He still has to pick up the scope," Boldt stated, glancing hotly at Gaynes as he sensed an opening.

"That would be correct," the man repeated.

"When?"

"Use new Internet site called i-ship. Delivery guaranteed, tomorrow ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock. You told him that?" Boldt said.

"After lunch," he corrected. "Need time check merchandise."

"To sight the scope for him," Gaynes suggested.

Both men looked over at her-Wong with an urgent appraisal that came too late, Boldt with respect.

The gun dealer said nothing.

Gaynes said, "If you've handled the weapon before it's used to kill somebody, you could be accused as an accomplice. Especially if we lift a print."

The man smirked at this impossibility.

"Even without your prints on it," Boldt said. "So be glad none of this is on the record."

Gaynes asked, "What distance did he want you to calibrate it for?"

"Cops and guns," the man repeated, shaking his head.

"Answer the question," Boldt said.

"A hundred and fifty to two hundred yards," the man replied.

"So he's planning on firing from the shoulder," Boldt said.

"A hundred fifty yards. That is request. That is what I deliver."

"No," Gaynes told him firmly. "You'll sight it for fifty to seventy-five yards. The first shots'll fly low."

The man shook his head. "Not possible. My reputation."

"Seventy-five yards," Gaynes repeated.

"He maybe test weapon," the man complained.

"With your reputation?" she mocked. "I doubt it. Maybe he'll sight it, maybe not. If not, then maybe we spare his first intended target a bullet." She ended this sentence with her eyes on Boldt, who felt chills run down his spine.

Boldt said, "We'll collar him before he ever gets the chance to fire that weapon."

"Maybe we will," Gaynes said.

Turning to Wong, Boldt informed the man, "We're going to need you to put one of our people behind your counter with you." Wong shook his head vehemently, those haunting eyes rolling like dice. Boldt had to amend the deal he'd made with Mama Lu, and it bothered him to do so. "And if you won't agree," Boldt continued, "we'll detain you indefinitely and put our guy in your place."

Seattle's reputation as a rain forest was largely undeserved. It was true that during the rinse cycle, November through March, northern Pacific storms tracked through regularly, leaving the city without so much as a glimpse of the sun, sometimes for weeks at a time. True that spring and fall saw their fair share of "partly sunny" days that were actually "partly rainy," as a thick and dreary mist fell, broken by moments of spectacular sunshine, the warm power of which could almost evaporate the moisture before the next wave of clouds passed over. But for all those stereotyped storms and images of umbrellas and slickers presented by the Weather Channel, the glory days of clear skies, a light breeze and sixty degrees were just as common. The moisture brought lush vegetation, wonderful gardening, and clean streets, the air fresher and purer than perhaps any other city in the country.

Boldt and Gaynes orchestrated their plan to capture Flek as he arrived to pick up his rifle scope. The International District lay under a rich summer sky, the air crisp and clean. Seagulls flew down the city streets, their cries echoing off buildings. The towering snowcapped peak of Mount Rainier loomed impossibly close, as if part of a Hollywood backdrop. It was a day when Liz would tell Boldt to "pinch yourself." That good.

"You with me, L. T?" Gaynes asked from the shotgun seat.

"What's that?"

With their unmarked van parked a block from the street entrance to Manny Wong's electronic repairs shop, Boldt and Gaynes had an unrestricted view of the surveillance target. Asians peopled the sidewalks and occupied the vehicles in proportions that made Caucasians stand out. For this reason, Boldt and Gaynes stayed put behind the van's tinted windows. And although the department's demographics prior to the Flu had included dozens of Asian patrol officers and detectives, the suspensions and firings imposed by the chief had drastically reduced their numbers to where Boldt's field team consisted of Detective Tom "Dooley" Kwan- currently inside the shop-and three relatively green patrol recruits out on the street in plainclothes: a twenty-something African American, Danny Lincoln, playing the role of a bike messenger who, on one knee, was busy with what looked like a blown bike chain; a middle-aged Vietnamese woman, Jilly Hu, outside the shop looking left and right as she acted out anxiously awaiting a ride, her hands occupied with the ubiquitous cellular phone; and a third man, Russ Lee, a Chinese American, in a wheelchair with a blanket over his lap concealing a loaded assault rifle, keeping speed with the first rule of engagement: Never be outgunned. Hu and Lee were partnered; Lincoln and Dooley were solo-on their own.

Four patrol cars, two uniforms each, maintained a three-block perimeter, in case backup was needed.

Gaynes explained, "I was saying that it's kind of eerie without all the normal radio chatter."

Boldt reminded her that the bicyclist, Danny Lincoln, was wearing a radio headset-as so many messengers did. It happened that Lincoln's headset connected to SPD dispatch. They had Jilly Hu on the cell phone. Dooley wore a wire-a concealed transmitter and receiver. They weren't exactly in the dark.

The police coverage of the rifle sight pick-up had been hastily thrown together. As the impending moment drew nearer, Boldt feared that if it went wrong they might not only lose a suspect, but someone might get hurt. He had LaMoia to remind him of that.

"What's your take?" Boldt asked Gaynes. She had a nose for such things.

"Not great."

"Same here."

"Our people look good. It's not that," she said. "And I think it's smart that we have Dooley working in the back of the store, not out front at the counter. That's way more natural than if Dooley is just loitering out front and making Flek nervous. And maybe it's just all the goddamned Asians milling around these streets, but something feels wrong about it, you know? Like it's going to go south."